


Behind Closed Doors

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Hot For Teacher [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker, Corrupting young minds, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Language, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Older Man/Younger Man, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker has a dirty mouth, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter may have a crush, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Quentin is kinky af, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Service Top, Sexual Fantasy, Steve would be Very Disappointed, Tony Stark doesn't believe your bullshit, Trash Ship, implied exhibitionism, kind of, professor/student, there's plot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 07:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: “Mister Parker,” he says, before he taps his keyboard again and closes the laptop, moves it aside. “Come in, please, you’re letting the cold in,” and he’s smirking now, and Peter feels himself grow warm.





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, well. This ship got me, there's no denying it.  
> After the mindfuck that is the vast majority of this tag (not that I'm judging) I need some not-actually-an-asshole-Quentin and some good, old-fashioned "Fucking your teacher is never a good idea" College AU shit, so I wrote this. Enjoy.
> 
> As an aside, Peter is 20ish in this

“Parker, stay a moment, if you will, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Peter freezes, his hand holding his books hovering between the table and his bag, and he looks up at Professor Stark, who is already looking at his tablet again, tapping away and not giving the students another thought now that class has been dismissed. His mind races. Has he forgotten to hand in a paper? Forgot an appointment? He really doesn’t think so, but with Mister Stark, you never know.

MJ shoots him a look, eyebrows raised, and he just shrugs, mouths, “I don’t know!” at her. He stuffs his books into his bag and slings the strap over his shoulder, and then he takes a deep breath and makes his way down the steps towards Mister Stark. _Facing a firing squad can’t be much worse_ , he thinks.

Stark ignores him a moment longer, swiping across the surface of his tablet, until the last student – MJ, drawing her finger across her throat in the universal gesture of “You’re fucked” before she winks at him – has left. When he has put down his tablet and looks up at him, Peter swallows hard. Mister Stark has the unique talent of looking at him in a way that makes him feel like a specimen under a microscope.

“I’ve been talking to Professor Beck. Anything you want to tell me, Peter,” he asks, and Peter feels his stomach drop.

_He can’t know, he can’t, it’s impossible._

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he makes himself say, a little proud of himself when his voice doesn’t waver too badly.

“He said you signed up for additional tutoring sessions with him,” Stark replies, with a piercing look and Peter feels at once embarrassed and relieved.

“Oh, _that_ , yes, I thought...” He trails off at the look Professor Stark gives him, watches how the man takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Your enthusiasm is a good thing, Peter, but don’t you think you’re taking a spot away from somebody who actually needs it?”

Peter can’t say that the accusation doesn’t hurt, and he shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know, I just thought Mister Beck is working on some very interesting projects right now, and it would really complement the rest of my course load.”

Stark’s gaze doesn’t waver in the slightest, and Peter fidgets. Finally the man sighs and puts his glasses back onto his nose. “You’re a smart kid, Parker, possibly the smartest this school has seen in decades,” and when he smiles a little, Peter knows he’s talking about himself. “Just make sure you don’t take on too much work. You have a tendency to do that, and you don’t want to burn yourself out before you even finish college.”

“I can handle it, sir, I promise.” He smiles, tries to look reassuring, confident, and knows he’s failing when Stark cocks an eyebrow. “But I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. Not every professor does,” and it’s true. Stark has a reputation for being aloof, unaffected by his students’ problems, but Peter knows none of that is true. He has known Stark for years, after all, from back when he and May dated briefly when Peter was 15.

“Well, you know me. Always sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong,” and he smirks, before he makes a shooing motion in Peter’s direction. “Run along now, kid. Go enjoy your weekend. Just don’t do anything I would do,” he says with a wink, and Peter laughs.

“I won’t,” he says and turns to leave with a little wave, smiling to himself. His phone buzzes in his pocket as he climbs the stairs, and when he pulls it out and unlocks it, he has to grin.

_Come see me in my office. -Q_

For a second, he hesitates. Sure, he has been to the office loads of times, but there was always a school related reason. Now… Now there isn’t one, at least not one that he’s aware of. He looks around, watches the hallways, empty except for a few stragglers and decides, _Fuck it, let’s see what he wants._

Beck’s office door stands open, and he can hear the sounds of somebody tapping away on a keyboard inside. He stops for a moment in the doorway, watching Quentin work, his brows furrowed in concentration. Peter loves catching him off guard like this, every once in a while, when he’s not pretending for anyone, attention completely on his work. Finally, Peter clears his throat and raps his knuckles against the door frame, and Quentin looks up at him. The annoyance at being interrupted gives way to a genuine smile when he recognises Peter.

“Mister Parker,” he says, before he taps his keyboard again and closes the laptop, moves it aside. “Come in, please, you’re letting the cold in,” and he’s smirking now, and Peter feels himself grow warm.

“But the doors are supposed to stay open when a student is in your office,” he says, even as he steps into the room and shuts the door behind himself. “College policy, right?” The lock clicks behind his back.

Quentin waves a hand dismissively. “Who’s going to tell on us? Most people have gone home by now,” and it’s true. The building is all but empty now, Peter knows, the risk of getting caught almost non-existent. 

“What did you want to see me about,” Peter asks, innocently, as he walks closer to the desk, and Quentin cocks an eyebrow. Peter grins, and says, “Sir,” lets the word roll off his tongue, watches how Quentin’s eyes darken.

“Come here, “ he commands, and Peter drops his bag on one of the chairs in front of the desk before he walks around it, coming to a stop before Quentin. The man swivels his chair around and pulls Peter by his hips to stand between his knees. “How are your classes going,” he asks, and Peter shrugs.

“Okay, I guess.” There’s a look in Quentin’s eyes, though, that Peter recognises, and he shrugs a little. “I forgot to hand in my essay in English Lit, though.” He’s lying, he has never forgotten to hand in a report ever since he started college, but well. Ends, means, etcetera.

“Did you now,” and Quentin’s voice drops. “I bet Rogers was very, very disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, “he really was.”

“Tardiness doesn’t suit you, Peter,” he says as he undoes Peter’s jeans with deft fingers, and Peter feels a fluttering in his belly.

“I’m sorry?” Quentin gives him a look, and Peter can’t stop himself from grinning. “Want me to make it up to Mister Rogers,” he asks, and from the way Quentin’s eyes narrow, he knows he’s on thin fucking ice.

“Make it up to _me_ ,” he says as he tugs the jeans over Peter’s hips, taking his boxers along, and Peter hums as he’s exposed to the cool air, already half hard.

“How should I do that,” Peter murmurs, and Quentin smirks up at him.

“Surprise me.”

Peter thinks for a second, before he turns to the desk and starts clearing the surface. The table is massive, sturdy. It ought to hold up, and he can tell Quentin likes his idea when he slides a hand up Peter’s thigh, rubbing circles into his flesh with his thumb. Finally there’s enough space, and Peter bends at the waist, leans down until his chest is on the desk’s surface, and then he reaches back and spreads himself.

“Like this, sir,” he asks, a little breathless, and Quentin groans.

“It’s a start,” he says in a tight voice, and then Peter can feel his breath on him, hot and wet, and then – _oh_.

Over the last couple of weeks, Quentin has introduced Peter to quite a few things he never thought he’d try, and this is one of them. He’s had guys (and girls) ask for it before but never felt interested, but Quentin just… did it, and now Peter feels kind of bad for refusing those people, because it feels so fucking _good_.

Quentin drags the flat of his tongue over Peter’s entrance, slowly, until Peter starts to fidget, impatient. “Greedy little thing,” Quentin murmurs, before he stiffens his tongue and pushes into Peter.

“Fuck, Q,” he gasps, pushes himself back. His cock is trapped uncomfortably against the keyboard drawer, and his breast bone hurts already from lying on the wood, but he doesn’t give a shit. His world shrinks to the reactions Quentin is coaxing out of him with his clever tongue. “Feels so good, so good, fuck,” he rambles, and Quentin’s grip on his thighs tightens.

Finally, he pulls away, and Peter whines, moves his hips back, chasing the sensation. “Do you want more, Peter,” Quentin asks, and Peter thinks, _What kind of a stupid question is that?_

“Yes, _yes_ , please, sir, I need more,” he says instead, and Quentin obliges him with a finger, and Peter gives a strangled cry.

“This what you want, darling?”

“Fuck, yes,” he gasps, rocks his hips back, fucks himself on Quentin’s finger. How did he ever put up with the guys his age whose idea of foreplay was more often than not groping him through his pants? _And here people are saying experience counts for nothing these days_ , he thinks.

There’s a weird snap, and then he flinches when Quentin pours a generous amount of lube over his fingers. Peter grins as he looks back at the man over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Why do you have lube in your office, professor,” he asks slyly, and Quentin returns his smile.

“For this,” he says before he shoves a second finger into Peter, and Peter moans and lets his head drop onto the desk. Quentin’s other hand is on the back of his neck then, steadying, grounding, as he fucks into him that much deeper, and the stretch is just a _little_ too much so quickly, just shy of being painful, and Peter _loves it._

He lets go of his cheeks finally, reaching forward instead to grip the edge of the table, uses it to push himself back a bit so he’s a little more comfortable. “What about you, sir,” he hears himself say, and he looks back at Quentin again. The man’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, and he crooks his fingers inside Peter.

“I’m not in a hurry,” he says as Peter jumps, calm as you fucking please, even though Peter can tell he’s not nearly as cool about this as he pretends. His knees are spread wide, and if Peter cranes his neck a little, he can see the hard outline of the man’s cock through his slacks.

“But sir,” Peter says, makes his voice go breathy and teasing, “don’t you want to feel good, too?”

His answer is a third finger, and Peter nearly goes cross-eyed.

He’s dimly aware of Quentin letting go of his neck, of him getting up and the tell-tale clink of a belt buckle, and then the velvety heat of the man’s cock rubbing against his thigh. “Q,” and it’s a whine, a plea, a benediction.

“You look so lovely like this, honey, like you were made for this,” Quentin murmurs. “If I could I’d keep you just like this, always, wet and stuffed and begging for more.”

Peter is on fire, the man’s words conjuring up the dirtiest images in his mind, and he whimpers, he arches his back, and when Quentin quickens his thrusts and takes hold of his neck again, he starts babbling again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” He can’t stop, can’t shut up, not when Quentin is fucking him so nicely, the tips of his fingers brushing against Peter’s prostate with every other thrust, and he clings to the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening. 

“What a mouth you have, darling,” Quentin murmurs, as he rubs his thumb along Peter’s throat. “Aren’t you scared somebody will hear you?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Peter moans, as he tilts his hips up, as he widens his stance, and Quentin hums in appreciation.

“Not that I want to share you, but… I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To have people hear you moan so prettily? Hear you begging for my dick?”

 _God help me_ , he thinks, as he imagines it.

Quentin chuckles. “Maybe you’d even want them to watch, hm? Watch me fuck that tight little ass of yours?” He leans down, covering Peter’s body with his own, until he can feel the man’s breath against his ear. “Who would you want there, honey? Strangers? Or people you know, people who would never believe how much perfect little Peter Parker is gagging for a hard dick in him?”

He whimpers, clenches around the fingers inside him. “Oh fuck, I can’t...”

Quentin’s grip on his neck tightens, bordering on painful, and he tilts his fingers down, aims for Peter’s prostate now. “What about Professor Stark,” he says, as he scissors his fingers, and Peter gasps as heat shoots through him.

“Q, please-”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me, I can’t wait any longer, please...” And he tilts his hips further, reaches back to spread himself open again, and Quentin growls against his neck.

“God, the things you make me wanna do to you,” he says as he pulls his fingers free, and Peter whimpers when the man straightens, lets go of his neck. “Think you can keep it down, darling?” Peter nods, furiously, he’ll do anything, whatever Quentin asks, if only he’ll put his cock into him, he needs it so badly he could cry, and finally he feels the blunt tip of it against his entrance. “Try not to scream,” Quentin says, and then he pushes into Peter.

He tries, he really does, he tries so hard, biting his lip in an effort to keep the noises in, but he just _can’t_. Three short thrusts, and then Quentin is all the way inside him, and Peter is dimly aware that he’s moaning, he’s being way too loud, but he doesn’t care. Who is gonna hear him anyway?

Quentin doesn’t bother with going slow, Peter is so close already anyway, fucked open on his fingers, and he sets a hard pace. Peter gasps and moans, and when Quentin takes hold of his shoulders for better purchase, he can’t keep in a scream, just can’t stop himself.

“That’s it, darling, let me hear you,” Quentin bites out, his fingers digging into Peter’s shoulders, and it’s so, so _good_.

“D’you think Stark would like that,” he asks then, picks up his previous train of thought, and Peter whimpers. “I think he would, but he wouldn’t just watch. I think he’d make you suck him while I fucked you. Shove himself all the way down your throat until you choked on it.”

And fuck, Peter can imagine it perfectly, can feel the ghost of Tony’s fingers on his jaw, the weight of his cock on his tongue, and it’s too much. His stomach tightens, his back goes rigid, and then he’s coming with a shout. Quentin puts a hand over his mouth then, holds him in place as he fucks him through his orgasm, all semblance of restraint gone as he pounds into him. The edge of the table digs into Peter’s thighs but he hardly feels it, he’s floating, and he whimpers weakly as Quentin comes inside him, with Peter’s name on his lips, “Fuck, Peter, _fucking hell_ ,” before he slumps forward, breath harsh and hot against Peter’s shoulder.

Peter doesn’t know how long they stay like that, all he knows is that he feels absolutely fantastic and never wants to move again. Quentin straightens again after a while, runs his hand through Peter’s hair, over the back of his neck, down his back. Says his name, and Peter hums, sleepily. “Do you want to come home with me tonight,” Quentin asks, and Peter smiles dopily.

“Could you carry me? I don’t think I can walk,” he murmurs, and Quentin’s hips twitch, and Peter moans.

There’s a sudden knock at the door, and they both freeze, Quentin still all the way inside of him, and Peter turns his head to look at him over his shoulder. Quentin meets his eyes, shrugs, and puts a finger to his lips.

But of course.

“Beck? You in there?”

 _Oh fuck_ , Peter thinks, and he can’t stop the way he clenches around Quentin’s cock, and the other man hisses lowly as he digs his fingertips into Peter’s hips.

“I have a key, so if you’re a burglar, get ready cause I’m coming in,” Professor Stark says, and Quentin clears his throat.

“It’s just me, Tony, give me a second.” He pulls out of Peter unceremoniously, and Peter can’t stop his whimper as he feels the man’s seed trickle out of him. “Get under the table,” Quentin tells him quietly as he pulls his pants back on and fixes his shirt, even though Peter is pretty certain he wouldn’t be able to fool anybody with how dishevelled he still looks, a tell-tale flush on his cheeks and that post-orgasmic shine to his eyes.

Still, Peter peels himself off the table and slides under it instead after pulling up his jeans, folding himself into the space intended for legs, and waits. Quentin unlocks the door once Peter is out of view, and Peter listens.

“Anything you needed?”

“I was hoping to catch you before you left, but there were some… interesting noises coming from your office.”

A beat before Quentin says, “I got kind of lost on YouTube. Nature documentary, you know. The mating habits of spiders,” and he says it so smoothly that Peter would probably believe him.

Professor Stark, on the other hand, doesn’t, as Peter can tell by the way he says, “Right.” He can perfectly picture the man’s raised eyebrow, the look on his face that says “I was born at night, boy, but it wasn’t last night,” and he feels almost guilty for enjoying the awkward silence before Stark clears his throat. “Well, I didn’t think that would be something you were into but who am I to judge.”

Quentin sighs, shifts. “Is there a point to this?”

“I spoke to Parker earlier,” Stark says, and Peter’s heart skips a beat. “He’s set on getting those tutoring sessions, but you gotta be careful with him. He has a lot on his plate already. Steve said the kid almost fell asleep in his class the other day, and I doubt it was because he was partying so hard. He takes on too many responsibilities, and he doesn’t need you to work him over all night, too,” and at that, Peter squeaks a little.

Another long, awkward pause, until Quentin says, “Must’ve left YouTube open.”

“Didn’t know spiders made sounds like that,” Professor Stark deadpans, and Peter wants to sink into the floor.

Quentin sighs then. “I see what you’re saying, but the kid is determined. And as long as his grades don’t suffer, I don’t really see a way to tell him to piss off.”

The silence that follows is tense, and Peter knows Professor Stark isn’t happy with that answer. “Well, just wanted you to be aware. Peter doesn’t always know what’s good for him.”

There are perfunctory goodbyes after that, and finally Stark departs. Quentin locks the door again for good measure, and Peter crawls out from under the desk. “That was close,” he says, and Quentin gives him a look.

“Is it true? Did you fall asleep on Rogers?”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Not really. And just that one time.” He remembers, clearly, why he’d been so tired. He’d spent the night at Quentin’s, and the man had introduced him to _kinbaku_ , or Japanese bondage. It had been a very long, very exhausting night, and Peter had been forced to skip his last two classes that day because he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Professor Rogers had indeed looked very concerned.

Quentin sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Peter, you need to let me know if I’m overstepping boundaries. I have this bad habit of not knowing when to stop.” He gives Peter a look. “Especially not with someone as encouraging as you.”

Peter feels an odd sense of pride at the statement. “Well,” he says, smirks, “I’ll try and keep that in mind next time.”

They leave separately, later, in their own cars, and it feels forbidden and thrilling. Peter wonders briefly what the hell he’s doing, getting involved with a teacher like this. It’s asking for trouble, really, and he’s always done his best to stay out of trouble. Never drank, never partied too hard, no drugs… It’s been picture perfect teenage years, really, with straight A’s and more blue ribbons at science fairs than he knows what to do with, and his first few years at college weren’t much different.

 _Guess I have some catching up to do_ , he thinks as he turns the key in the ignition.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He meets up with MJ to study the next day, mind still reeling from nearly getting caught by Tony Stark of all people, and he desperately wants to tell her. He can’t, though, he knows that. Still, it feels disingenuous to not share these things with his best friend.

But MJ wouldn’t be MJ if she didn’t see right through him, and so, when he’s put his bottle of water to his mouth and is mid-swallow, she asks, “So who’s the person?”

Peter chokes, splutters and coughs until there are tears in the corners of his eyes, and MJ hits him on the back a couple of time, grinning. Finally he can breathe again, and tries to look innocent. “What person?”

MJ gives him her patented “Are you actually serious?” look. “You’re seeing someone, Parker, don’t even try to deny it.” Her smile turns knowing. “And based on the finger-shaped bruises on your neck, I’m gonna assume it’s a guy.”

He turns fire engine red, his hand going to the back of his neck reflexively. “I, uh...” He tries to think of another explanation, anything at all, but when she cocks an eyebrow at him, he deflates. “Yeah, okay, I’m seeing someone. Kind of.”

“Who is this mystery man, then? Do I know him?”

Peter avoids her eyes, runs a hand through his hair. “Kinda? But I can’t tell you. It’s kind of a secret.”

MJ leans her head on her hand, studies him for a moment. “He married?” When Peter shakes his head, she closes her eyes with a look of long suffering. “Please tell me you’re not banging Professor Stark.”

“What?! No, of course not!” He feels his face grow even hotter, and MJ gives him another look.

“Don’t play all offended. You’ve had a crush on the guy for at least three years.”

“I do _not_ have a crush on Mister Stark! He used to date my aunt, for crying out loud!”

She gives a half-shrug. “And?”

Peter splutters, indignant. “Seriously, MJ, he’s, and I know this is gonna sound clichéd as fuck, like a father to me.” Quentin’s voice whispers in the back of his mind, the image he planted in Peter’s brain, because of course it does, and he swallows, hard. “Besides, the guy has morals. He’d never hook up with a student.” _Unlike Quentin_ , he thinks wryly.

MJ sighs, clearly not convinced. “Is it a teacher?”

“Why do you care,” he asks, and he sounds defensive even to his own ears.

She softens then, puts her hand on his. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Peter.”

“I know, I’m… I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He rubs his free hand over his face, until his skin prickles. “It’s a teacher. He’d lose his job if this gets out, MJ,” he says, and he knows he’s pleading.

“I’m not gonna tell on you, Peter.” She smirks, a little. “But if he hurts you, make sure he knows I’m gonna hunt him down myself. I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to know what mistakes not to make.”

Peter laughs then, relieved, and in part it’s because he knows she’s right. If he ever needed to make a body disappear, MJ would be the first person he’d call. “Thanks, MJ, I appreciate that.”

“Besides,” she says, a wicked gleam in her eyes, “I can now blackmail you into telling me all the sordid little details.”

 _Oh shit_ , Peter thinks, as her smile widens, and he doesn’t know what option is worse. “I’m not telling you about the sex,” he says, and MJ laughs.

“I’ll just ask some leading questions, and your shit poker face is going to answer, Parker.”

He sighs, because he knows she’s right.

“And I expect you to tell me if you ever do hook up with Stark,” she adds, and Peter drops his head to the table top.

“With friends like these,” he says into the wood, and MJ laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even a little bit sorry.


End file.
